Competition
by thelivinggirl
Summary: AU. Francis was sure that charming his way back into his petit Matthieu's heart would not be a very difficult task, but upon meeting a certain albino teammate of Matthew's, he realizes that he is not the only one vying for the Canadian's affections.
1. Chapter 1

"Francis, you _really_ don't have to do this, you know," Matthew told his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – _whatever_ – as they trudged across the frozen parking lot. Well, Matthew trudged as Francis kind of _glided_, as always.

"Don't be silly, _mon cher_. I want to watch your hockey game!" The French man adjusted the duffle bag holding Matthew's gear across his shoulder. It was a little heavy, but he tried not to show it – after all, he had insisted on taking it from his _petit ange_ in the first place.

It was Saturday, also known as community hockey day. Several games were played all day in the local center in which basically anyone could participate, as long as they had the proper equipment and weren't a liability to the teams. Matthew acted like it was no big deal, but Francis knew that he absolutely loved the sport, and had even gathered from Alfred that Matthieu was extremely talented and played in the _ver_y competitive matches. If he was ever going to win the boy's heart over again, it meant being more involved in the things Matthieu wanted to do.

Francis snuck a glance at the 'man', who was really hardly out of his teens, next to him. He wouldn't say it, but he was a little worried. He may be French, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that hockey was a violent sport, possibly the _most _violent sport, and Matthieu was… _Matthieu_. Soft and gentle and timid to the point of being ignored, he liked snuggling and had to cover his eyes during the scary parts of movies. It was hard to imagine him being, to quote Alfred, "a scary bastard on a pair of skates."

They walked into the building and Francis observed that while the stands were fairly abandoned, a few players were already warming up on the ice.

Matthew walked to the edge looked out at the men before cupping his hands to his mouth and yelling, "Hey, Gilbert!"

One of the players stopped dead on the ice, seemingly frozen for a minute, before half-screaming, "_MATTIE!!!_" and racing towards the blond, who suddenly seemed very small compared to the charging man in full hockey gear. Said man apparently forgot he was on skates, because as he went full-tilt towards the edge of the rink, stretching out his arms out in an approximation of a hug, before _WHAM! _The tips of his skates hit the wooden ridge and propelled him downwards, tackling Matthew hard onto the floor.

If the hockey player's hands hadn't cupped the back of Matthieu's head at the last moment to keep it from hitting the ground, Francis would have found a way to make sure that 'Gilbert' never got up ever again. As it was, he settled for harshly pushing the man off of his unofficial-boyfriend and frantically checking Matthew for bodily injury until the periwinkle-eyed boy smiled reassuringly and wheezed, "It's okay, Francis. Just got the wind knocked out of me."

Before Francis could express his relief, he was unceremoniously shoved out of the way by the skater, who had removed his helmet to reveal white hair, white skin, and pink-red irises. "Christ, Mattie, I'm sorry! You okay?"

"Yeah, Gilbert, I'm fine-" He was cut off as Gilbert wrapped him up in a bear-hug.

"It's so awesome to see you!"

Matthew laughed and did his best to hug the man back, despite the bulky padding and gear and the fact that they were all still sitting on the floor. "How've you been? How're the other guys?"

Gilbert relinquished his hold on Mattie (but was still too close for Francis' tastes) and answered, "Your little month-long disappearance because of your _prick_ of an ex was completely not awesome. You should have just come to me, I would have totally messed up that fucker's face for fucking around on you like that! Besides, everyone missed you, dude, no one can tear up the ice like you can… and I was stuck with Captain 'No-Fun' Ludwig and his ADHD Boy-Toy Wonder for company while you were gone."

Matthieu giggled nervously at that and grabbed the Frenchman's arm. "Speaking of which… Gilbert, I'd like you to meet Francis."

The albino did a double-take. "_Francis?!_" He said dangerously, "The guy you dumped? The one who cheated on you, Tiger Woods-style? The whole _reason_ you fucking _vanished_ for a month?!"

"Gilbert, _please!_" Matthew pleaded, "Yes, he messed up… but I can't not give him a second chance!"

Francis decided to speak up. Addressing Gilbert, he said, "I may have hurt Matthieu before, but every moment I have I will make it up to him and adore him the way he deserves." He finished the statement with an affectionate look thrown at the smaller man, who was watching Gilbert warily.

"You're damn fucking right he deserves to be treated well," the albino growled, "Which you _won't ever do_. I've seen guys like you, man. Once a cheater, always a cheater."

Francis made to retort, but Matthew interrupted. Placing a hand on Gilbert's bicep, he asked with a low voice, looking up into the albino's face with adorable wide eyes and a slight pout, "Gil, please, _please_ be nice! It's really important to me, so just… _please?_"

If Francis hadn't picked up on it before, Gilbert's feelings were made hopelessly obvious by the way he looked at Matthew right then. His angry and oddly hurt expression melted into something gentler, sadder, and wistful. He nodded slowly, but whispered, "Still, I want to talk to you later." Matthew nodded back with a small, encouraging smile, and Gilbert turned to look at Francis.

Pigmentless eyes met blue ones, and a tense moment passed before Gilbert gave a very chilly, "Hey."

"_Bonjour," _Francis answered, purposely using his native language to assert his superiority over the man. He slid his arm around Matthieu's waist for good measure, tucking the smaller blond against his side and practically in his lap. Mattie blushed crimson and the albino's eyes narrowed before he abruptly stood back on the ice, grabbing Matthew's hand to pull him up and out of Francis' grasp. Suddenly, Gilbert had Matthew's hockey bag in one hand and the Canadian's hand in the other with a vaguely menacing expression on his face as he looked down on Francis.

Matthew looked between them, worried, before clearing his throat and tugging on Gilbert's hand to get his attention. As the men stopped glaring at each other and looked to him, Mattie flushed and stuttered, "S-shouldn't we go and g-get ready?"

Gilbert managed to flash him a smile that actually seemed sincere. "Sure, Mattie! Besides, if we don't go soon, we'll lose time to rev you up for the game." He began to pull the Canadian further out onto the ice. Matthew didn't try to stop him, but sent a glance towards Francis. The aristocratic blond gave an indulgent smile and waved him away, and Matthew grinned back before turning away.

With Matthieu out of sight, Francis let the smile fall into a grimace. This was going to be a problem.


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew never had a problem with changing in front of Gilbert. It was comfortable, it was non-judgmental, and more than anything it felt _safe_. When the other guys were around, constantly looking and slapping and joking… it just made his skin crawl.

It wasn't that Gilbert didn't look and laugh and, alright, his friendly touches tended to linger, but coming from him it just made him feel _warm_ with a pleasant sort of curl in his stomach.

He hated that it was different today.

"Gil, would you _please_ stop glaring at me?"

Gilbert grunted from across the room where he was leaning dejectedly against the lockers. "I ain't _glaring,_ Matt. I'm just wondering where your common sense went."

Matthew threw him a look. "My common sense is _fine_, Gilbert," he said icily. He pulled the jersey on over his padding before sitting, setting to work on the skates.

Gilbert wobbled over on his skate guards, kneeling in front of Matt to help with the blades. "Is it his looks? I mean, I get how some people could think he's so gorgeous and French and all, but I take one look at his face and all I can think is _smelly cheese, cheating lying bastard, smelly cheese._"

He looked up as he heard a small hiccough of laughter. Mattie was blushing brilliantly with a hand clapped over his mouth, hiding his smile and chuckles. Gil finished with the skates and kneeled up until he was eyelevel with the smaller, slouching Canadian. Quirking a sad, wry grin, he removed Matthew's hand from his mouth.

Watching Matthew's blush deepen from the sudden proximity and the gesture, he quietly said, "Birdie, he cheated on you with loads of different people, made you feel absolutely miserable, and you're still taking him back. Laughing at a joke made at his expense is the least of what he deserves."

"Gil…" Matthew stared back at him, his brow pinched and mouth slightly pouting in concern. "Nothing's official. I'm not… I'm not quite sure yet. But please, let me come to a decision on my own."

The albino nodded slowly in understanding. He could see the logic in that. If he pressured Matt to dump the prick, or told him his feelings too soon… it would either push the Canadian away, or never allow him the closure he needed with… _Francis_.

Gilbert stood, not allowing himself to think about how he had been close enough to steal a kiss, and pulled Matthew up off the bench. And goddamn if the kid hadn't overbalanced and fallen against his chest, hands meek and flat against his pectorals, eyes looking into his face wide and doe-like with surprise, somehow managing to look so enticingly innocent and adorable even with the bulky gear on.

Gilbert's brain was nothing but buzzing for a full five seconds while staring into his beautiful Birdie's face, and had he not been so completely stunned by the kid, he probably would have attacked his mouth and invaded his vital regions without even registering what he was doing.

He stood Mattie up straight to avoid doing just that, and though he missed the boy against his chest, he consoled himself with the thought that he had been the first to move away, not Matthew.

"Oh – eh – sorry about that…" Matt blushed and stuttered.

"It's fine, Mattie!" Gilbert waved his hand nonchalantly, as though he hadn't been seconds away from sucking on the Canadian's tongue. "Now let's go!" He strode out the door with Matthew right behind him, ready to kick some ass.

* * * * *

As Matthew slid out onto the ice, he couldn't help a small sigh of happiness. This was where he felt at home, a feeling so very rare in his life – as though he really belonged. On his way to the center with Gilbert, he saw Francis waving him over from the side, and grinning, he glided over.

"Hey, you!" Matthew chirped happily as he came to a stop.

"_Bonjour, mon petit,_" Francis answered with a smile. "I just wanted to wish you good luck with your game."

"Thanks, Francis! I still have a few minutes to warm up though, eh?"

"And it's not like he needs it anyway." Mattie looked over at the new voice – it appeared that Gilbert had decided to take the detour with him. "Birdie's got it all under control!"

While looking at Gilbert, Matthew didn't the hostile glare Francis sent to the German. By the time he looked back, the Frenchman was gently smiling once again before leaning forward to the Canadian. "_Un baiser pour bonne chance, oui?" (*)_ Francis purred, tilting up Mathieu's chin to give him a soft kiss.

He expected Gilbert to react badly to this movement, but he didn't see a negative reaction coming from Matthew. For the split second that he leaned in to the kiss, all hell broke loose from the other two men. Gilbert swore furiously and firmly pushed Francis' chest back, while Mattie yelped and suddenly skated – backwards – a few meters away in what seemed like a millisecond. Francis stared at the other blond in confusion.

"_Mon cher_, what's wrong?"

The Canadian looked distressed, and immediately skated back to the Frenchman. "Oh, I'm so sorry Francis, it's just –"

"Have you completely lost your mind, you idiot?!" The albino cut Mattie off to hiss into Francis' face. "Have you forgotten where we are? You're fucking lucky no one saw that. Not because I'm worried about _your_ fucking safety – believe me, that's the _last_ thing on my mind – but Christ! You'd make Mattie the main target of every single fucking homophobe who's about to get out on this ice!"

Francis' eyes widened as he turned to look at Matt. "Oh Mathieu, I'm so sorry."

Matthew smiled reassuringly and was quick to assure Francis that it was fine. "I'll make it up to you after the game, okay?"

Francis smiled back. "Perfect. I'll be waiting!"

Matthew skated to the center of the ice, followed by Gilbert who was having yet another glaring competition with Francis.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

* A kiss for good luck, yes?

**Up next - we find out _exactly _how Matthew turns from such a sweet, timid boy to a hockey-puck eating machine. SPOILER: the answer is smexy ;D**


	3. Chapter 3

Matthew glanced at the clock – okay, five minutes to warm up. He'd done worse in the past. Gil skated up directly behind him and whispered in his ear, "You ready?" Matthew shivered, which the albino seemed to take as a yes. Truthfully, Matthew really was worried about how Francis would feel about the warm up routine, but… he and Gil had been doing this for ages. It was perfected in that no one _really_ understood exactly what the two were doing, but interpreted it as nothing more than a hockey player revving up a fellow teammate for the game. No one but those on their team knew that Gil was the only one who could – or was even _allowed_ – to get Matthew ready in this way. Not only was he Matthew's most trusted companion, but the albino would undoubtedly maim anyone who touched the Canadian so intimately without express permission… a few of them were smart enough to realize that maiming was still likely to happen even _with_ Mattie's consent.

It began with Gilbert shedding his gloves on the ice and massaging Mattie's neck with his still-warm hands, raising goosebumps on the blond's skin. He rolled his head around a bit, loosening up. The white hands delved into the neck of Matthew's jersey and under the padding as far as they could go, getting at the tendons of the Canadian's shoulders. Despite the cramped area, Gil managed to do that trick of his where he lightly trailed a finger up the very top of Matthew's spine. Matthew took a deep breath; his heart was starting to pump now, but he didn't want his breathing to become more irregular than it had to be.

Gilbert pressed up behind him, not hard, but enough so Mattie could feel his solid presence through the padding on his body. Albino fingers landed just beneath the hem of his shirt, pressing into pale Canadian hips in tiny circular motions. Positioning their heads so that it looked like nothing more than close whispering to the audience, Gilbert leaned in close enough to brush the shell of Matthew's ear with his lips as he murmured, "Are you there, yet?"

...

It was only through pure, Prussian determination and focus that, when Mattie turned to him with half-lidded bedroom eyes, pliable lips reddened through cold air and heavy breathing, looking so deliciously _fuckable_, and breathed, "_Yes_", that Gilbert was able control himself at all. Goddamnit, this happened _every time_! Every time, it would be so simple to lean that extra four centimeters forward and take that soft upper lip between each of his own, to feel Birdy's bottom lip settle gently beneath his, to pull him into the locker room, forget about the game, forget his own name and feel that warm body against his and mark that skin as lovingly as possible…

And every time, he didn't. Without so much as a squeeze before letting go, Gilbert moved away, trademark smirk plastered on his face as he pulled on his gloves and helmet and skated backwards towards the middle of the ice front of Matthew. As the Canadian watched him leave, watched Gil _taunt him_ by making so wanting before taking it all away, a change came over Matthew. Because if there was one thing guaranteed to make Matthew rabid, it was _that_ type of sexual frustration. And it was that very thing that the ferocity of Mattie's game depended on.

Jamming his helmet onto his head, Matthew charged to the middle of the ice just as the timer started. The ref blew the whistle, the Canadian and the giant, imposing Russian opposite of him smashed their hockey sticks together three times, and the game began.

...

A certain Frenchman watched the game from the stands as various emotions rolled through his body.

For one, hatred. He was going to kill a certain loud-mouthed, cocky, uncouth albino who _did not know how to keep his hands to himself._

Another was arousal. Francis prided himself on knowing _amour_, and all the activities that went along with it, and he was not blind as everyone else in the stands and ice apparently were. He could feel the arousal coming off of his little Mathieu in waves, he saw the expression on the blond's face just before the albino skated away, and it was… _hot_.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was a small amount of fear in his bloodstream, from multiple sources. Fear that the albino could potentially succeed in turning Mathieu away from him. Fear that the Canadian would hurt himself out there on the ice – Francis winced as Mathieu slammed against a wall with a member of the opposing team. There was another source that he didn't want to identify… but it definitely had something to do with Mathieu's behavior out on the ice, with the look in his eyes. Francis wasn't sure he liked what the albino had forced out of the Canadian. It seemed unnatural, especially when compared with his normal demeanor.

And finally, he was _happy_. Maybe even smug. Little did the obnoxious white-haired man know what the product of his 'warm-up session' would be _this_ time.

...

Matthew was in the zone; scoring often, darting around the bigger players, smashing right into the ones who didn't get out of his way fast enough. Before he even realized it, the buzzer sounded; the game was over. They had won.

A mob of his teammates descended upon him, all hugging and shaking each other and screaming. Still on a high, Mattie whooped as loud as he could. Suddenly, he was pulled out of the fray and into the long arms of a smiling, blond Frenchman. Looking into Francis' sparkling blue eyes, he fell into the passionate kiss that was bestowed upon him. Starting out gentle, but growing more powerful by the second, Matthew would have _climbed_ onto the tall man if it weren't for his skates and bulky gear.

Ignoring the cat-calls and fake-gagging of the men around them, Mattie gave Francis' tongue a final suck before heatedly whispering, "I need to go get out of these clothes. Stay _right here_," and skating at breakneck speed towards the locker room.

Francis smiled dazedly as he waited for his _petit chou_ to come back. That, that had been… _délicieux._

Hardly five minutes later, Mathieu was back and somewhat cooled down, smiling shyly as he took Francis' hand. "So, do you want to go out to eat, or…?" The Canadian left the end of the question open to suggestion, which Francis gladly supplied.

"How about we go to my place and I cook you a victory feast, _cher_? That way we can also… talk." He suggested. The Frenchman wasn't even entirely using a euphemism; they _did_ need to talk, especially after that wonderful re-acquaintance of their tongues, about exactly what their relationship was… before _Gilbert_ butted in again. Matthew nodded happily at his suggestion, and as they walked back to the car, Francis could see the albino looking forlornly at their retreating backs, ignoring a tall blond man and a shorter auburn-haired boy who were trying to regain his attention.

Francis squeezed the hand entwined in his own. He knew that there was no room for sympathy in war, but even he pitied the obnoxious man at that moment. Still, a squeeze back forced his mind to return to his prize – an adorable blond Canadian at _his_ side, and not another's. Pressing a kiss to the flaxen hair and kindly taking the duffle bag from his _ange_, they continued to walk into the dimming light of the evening.


End file.
